Prison Ship (17 page)

Steiner awoke at the sound of his comlink. “Steiner here.” His own voice sounded ragged to him.

“We have achieved orbit around Baiten II.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tramer. Have your first team assembled within two hours.”

As Steiner washed himself and put on a fresh uniform, he thought about how he had treated Maxwell over the last few weeks. He had abandoned Maxwell in his waking life as surely as he had in the dream.

As he made his way toward the lower levels, he passed by the bar and noticed someone had painted a letter “S” in front of the sign “HELL” and a “Y” on the end of it. Immediately, he suspected Pattie had something to do with that. Upon reaching the engine room, he evacuated the crewmen out of the area except for Daniels, J.R., and Spider and sealed the lower-level pressure door. He led the engineers into the landing bay and opened the pressure door for them to begin their preparations. All three men sang hymns as they prepped the armored transport carrier, which they had nicknamed the
Stormquest
. J.R., a bass, and Spider, a tenor, blended their voices together to form such majestic tapestries of music that Steiner thought they might try to start a singing career together once their sentences had expired. Steiner helped J.R. drive six of the armored TRAC vehicles into the cargo hold of the
Stormquest
. Then he aided them in making a trek to the armory and bringing back carts filled with assault rifles, missile launchers, grenades, suits of body armor, and six portable laser cannons.

At just before 1200 hours, Steiner’s comlink beeped. “Steiner here.”

“Captain,” Tramer’s synthesized voice answered. “The RED team has been assembled at Pressure Door C-3, awaiting your orders.”

“We’re almost done, Mr. Tramer. I’ll open the door in five minutes,” Steiner said into his comlink.

J.R. and Spider hugged Daniels as if saying good-bye to their own father. Daniels climbed into the control booth for the crane and waved to his assistants as Steiner escorted them out of the landing bay.

Steiner went to Pressure Door C-3, which sealed off the lower levels from the rest of the ship, and entered the code to open it. Under the watchful eye of the weapons officer, fifteen men, including Mason, Sam, and Pattie, filed through the doorway and headed for the landing bay. Tramer acted as emotionless as ever. Steiner saluted him but got no response.

Why is he acting so distant?
he wondered as he watched his old friend march after the trainees. Anxious to view what the weapons officer’s sensors were recording, Steiner sealed the lower level, then hurried toward the command center.

After Steiner had Julio Sanchez set the
Marauder
on autopilot around the planet, he dismissed everyone but Bricket from the command center. Steiner sat down next to the bartender in front of the security monitors. Instead of interior views of the ship, several of the screens depicted various images coming from Tramer’s sensor implants. One held a normal camera panorama, another, an infrared readout, and a third, a scanner that detected everything within a fifty-foot radius. The weapons officer could tell if a person was approaching even without seeing him directly. It seemed very beneficial, but at the same time, it must also be a curse, robbing Tramer of his normalcy.

“You don’t trust Tramer going down there unsupervised, do you?” Bricket asked. “That’s the reason you had me attach the transmitter to his sensors, isn’t it?”

“Tramer volunteered for the procedure.”

The bartender’s brow furrowed. “He did?”

The top left screen showed the
Stormquest
descending into the massive air lock in the floor of the landing bay. The center monitor displayed Tramer’s perspective of the interior of the troop compartment. He faced two rows of convicts strapped into seats along the side of the hull. Steiner could barely make out Mason and Sam through the open hatch to the cockpit on the far wall.

“When I attached the transmitter to Tramer’s visual sensors, I took the liberty of tapping into the audio as well,” Bricket said. “Would you like to hear what everyone is saying?”

This was more than Steiner had hoped for. “Yes,” he answered.

When the bartender pressed a keypad, the speakers emitted distorted sounds. After several adjustments, he was able to clean it up to where individual voices could be heard. The convicts spoke softly among themselves, repeating obscene jokes and teasing each other. Steiner heard the bounty on his life mentioned twice. Both times, it had been referred to in a jesting manner, not worthy of reacting to. Tramer had been accurate when he had said that the men didn’t hide their words from him. They probably didn’t know the weapons officer’s hearing was so acute.

“Why did you change the name of the bar to SHELLY?” one of the armored men shouted at Pattie.

“ ’Cause I’d rather spend me free time inside a woman, wouldn’t ya all agree, lads?”

The other convicts cheered their response.

Bricket groaned. “My assistant says profits have increased since he did that.”

The picture shook as the
Stormquest
dropped away from the bottom of the
Marauder
’s docking assembly. The horizon of the planet rose in the portholes along the hull. The sounds distorted briefly into a high-pitched whine, causing Steiner to wince.

“Sorry about that. It’s amazing how powerful this audio feed is,” Bricket said, working the controls on the console. “I’ll bet I can isolate a single voice from a hundred feet away.”

He experimented with his theory by zooming in on Mason and Sam in the cockpit. Their voices became distinct amidst all the other convicts’ chatter. Steiner listened as Mason instructed Sam how to keep the ship’s descent smooth when entering a planet’s atmosphere. Mason let the boy try it by himself, but his flying was so rocky that Mason had to take over again.

Steiner smiled.

A fiery glow grew in all the windows. A couple of the convicts gave exuberant cries of excitement.

The images disappeared from the screens as the
Stormquest
descended into the blackout zone of the upper atmosphere.

“Tramer wants to kill me for aiding Pearce, doesn’t he?” Bricket asked in the new silence.

Steiner knew better than to lie. “Yes.”

The bartender groaned. “I could sense it when I attached the visual transmitter to him.”

“Tramer thinks that executing you will provide discipline for the rest of the crew. I don’t agree.”

“What’s to stop him from murdering me?”

“My order not to.”

“Do you really believe you can control his actions with an order?”

Steiner didn’t reply. In all honesty, he couldn’t restrain Tramer from executing anyone. He could only hope the weapons officer obeyed him.

“That’s what I expected,” Bricket said. “I might be able to help you with that dilemma.”

Steiner eyed the bartender curiously.

The images sprang back to life upon the darkened screens. Cheers from the convicts in the troop compartment blared over the speakers.

Bricket decreased the volume, then turned to Steiner. “When I attached the transmitter, I saw the CPU that interfaces with Tramer’s brain. I could’ve easily sliced through its power cord with a laser cutter. Without the CPU, his human body can’t sustain itself.”

“You want to murder him?” Steiner asked.

“Yes, if it’s the only way to keep him from killing anyone else.”

“There’s no proof that he murdered anyone on this ship.”

“He did. Everyone on board knows it—even you.”

“We never found the weapon that killed the man in the gunnery port. As for Pearce’s death, Tramer couldn’t possibly have squeezed through a ventilation shaft to get into the life-support control room.”

“That’s not the only way to get into life support,” Bricket replied.

“Other than using the password for the main entry, it is.”

“That’s exactly what he did.”

Steiner shook his head. “Director Riggs assured me that only she and I know the ship’s passwords.”

“I don’t doubt that at all. But consider what we are viewing on these monitors. Tramer’s capabilities are far more than either of us expected. How do we know what his limitations are?”

A sickening sensation swept over Steiner when he remembered the times Tramer had watched him from a distance entering passwords. He found himself doubting Maxwell again, abandoning him just as in the dream.

“He could have gotten an assault rifle right out of the armory,” Bricket said.

Steiner rubbed his face with his hands. “If I allowed you to execute him, I’d be guilty of the exact same crime you are accusing him of.”

“Can you risk not to? Considering his physical strength, I doubt any of the cells in the brig could hold him.”

Steiner knew that the bartender was leading him along to the only logical conclusion, one he didn’t wish to consider.

Bricket probably sensed his discomfort because he stopped his argument and watched the monitors for a while.

Almost completely barren, Baiten II had been one of the first failed attempts at terraforming a world for colonization. The air was breathable, but the sandstorms made growing things there impossible, so the United Star Systems used it for troop training, instead.

The
Stormquest
landed in the middle of a desert plain. Tramer immediately put on a metallic face shield, locking it into place. One of the monitors went dark from its camera being blocked by the helmet. The infrared image and the proximity sensor display remained active. When Tramer opened the hatch, a dust cloud poured through the opening. He began instructing the convicts on how he wanted the equipment unloaded. Steiner realized Tramer’s helmet shield must be protecting the only exposed flesh on his body, his face, from the biting sand. On the screens, the convicts began to set up a large tent as a barrack.

“When Tramer returns to exchange the RED and GREEN teams,” Bricket said, “tell him I have to adjust his transmitter for clearer reception. I’ll do the rest.”

“I’ll consider your proposition and give you my decision at the end of the week,” Steiner said sternly.

Bricket nodded and said nothing more about it.

Steiner tried to imagine whether Captain McKillip would have condoned murder to protect himself and his ship. Probably not. He had never compromised his beliefs. Could Steiner afford to follow the same policy?

As the week progressed, Steiner learned how to control the different feeds transmitted from Tramer’s sensors by himself. Between patrols of the ship, he spent hours in the command center alone, watching everything that transpired on the planet below. The serious nature of his decision demanded that he do so.

Pattie had proven to be the valuable asset Steiner had hoped he would be. For the first day, the former sergeant teased and joked with the convicts like they were his buddies, secretly assessing their abilities. Then, on the second day, his mood toughened, and he began barking orders, pushing each and every convict to the limits of his physical endurance. At first, some complained, but Pattie explained to them all, “The Separatists are gonna want to
kill
you. If you survive me, then you’ll survive them; otherwise, there’s a dark cell somewhere awaitin’ any prissy boy who wants to quit.”

Within the tent barracks, Tramer would start each training session with a lecture, walking confidently among the armor-suited convicts, instructing them how best to use the assault rifles and missile launchers in concert with each other for maximum effectiveness. He would then give the team over to Pattie, to have him run them through battle exercises outside in the harsh wind. Tramer monitored from the tent as the convicts marched through the churning sands under the twin suns. Pattie taught the men his personal battle hymn. “Oh, when the Saint, goes marchin’ in. Oh, when the Saint goes marchin’ in. He’ll stomp on his enemies’ skulls. When the Saint goes marchin’ in.”

Mason had trouble keeping up with the others on some of the strenuous drills, but Sam didn’t seem to have any difficulty. It had been the teenager’s decision to go on the training week. He wanted whatever defense skills he could learn. Sam was far tougher than Steiner had expected, probably driven by the same survival skills that had kept him alive on the run. Together, Mason and Sam participated in a competition Tramer held with the TRACs. Mason drove the vehicle across the sandy terrain, bouncing over small dunes, while Sam fired its mounted gun at targets Tramer had set up in the distance. They achieved the second-highest score out of five competing teams. The other convicts warmed up to Sam quickly, respecting his determination. One evening, Sam told them his story, about being left as a child at a parish, being raised by Father Perez, who had been murdered by a mob, and his years on the run from the law. After the whole story was done, Mason seemed affected by it, because afterward, when he called Sam “Little Brother,” it sounded like he actually meant it.

During the planet’s dark cycles, when only one sun skimmed the horizon, the convicts slept soundly inside the tent barracks, exhausted from the intense workout, while Tramer positioned himself silently in a corner. Steiner learned that Tramer did, in fact, sleep. When the weapons officer stood motionless for several hours, his pulse slowed and his breathing deepened. His sensors continued to operate, awakening him whenever someone moved or shifted inside the tent. That explained why he never used his cabin. He could have been napping in front of his security station at any time while his components monitored the screens.

During the last night on the planet, Steiner sat at the screens, drinking a cup of coffee, watching Tramer use a small blower to discharge the sand from his servos and gears. In the back of the tent, Pattie got up from his sleeping roll and picked his way through the slumbering convicts until he got near Tramer. The Saint struggled for a moment, then whispered, “Something’s botherin’ me that I have to know before we do this all over again for the next two weeks. It doesn’t matter how ya answer. I’ll do my job as I’ve done. I wanna know for myself.” Pattie looked away, gritting his teeth. “Okay, here goes. No hard feelings, right?” Pattie inched closer, staring directly into the monitors. “Seein’ you marchin’ around in front of the men, makin’ them cower in fear, reminded me of Archimedes, don’t ya think?” Pattie grinned nervously, searching for a response that Steiner couldn’t see. Finally, the Saint’s face broke into a wide grin, and he chuckled softly. “It is you, Maxie. Saints be praised! That’s what I thought. Just had to be sure.” Pattie backed away, the pleasant grin fading. “Bad luck, I guess.” His gaze dropped to the floor, ashamed to look up. “You’re a fine leader. Good to serve under ya.” He gave another pained grin, shrugged his shoulders, and started picking his way back to his sleeping roll. His head bobbed up and down as he repeated something. Steiner pumped up the gain to hear what it was. “Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women …” The words were rapid and breathless as he repeated them over and over. As the Saint got back into his bedroll, Steiner saw that the man’s expression was pale, and his hands shook as he counted the rosary beads from his necklace.